


A Temple of Flowers

by xxwrote_my_way_outxx



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Honestly something happy for once?, Implied Oral Sex, It's A Complicated Russian Romance, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxwrote_my_way_outxx/pseuds/xxwrote_my_way_outxx
Summary: And their hands became caught around each others bodies and they rolled and tumbled down the hill of fragrant flowers, clothes jostled and hair ruffled. Dolokhov was atop of Anatole, who had rightfully become a giggling mess. Petals were woven through his silky, strawberry blonde hair and he had a soft scuff of a grass stain on his fair, blushing cheek that reminded him of a pink lady apple.By the gods how could anybody ever be as lovely as him? Who even had the right to be this remarkable?





	A Temple of Flowers

It was nice to have a day where they weren’t drinking and they were just spending time together. 

A nice day in Petersburg, where the sun was out and spring was warming up the usually cold flower fields. The golden bathe of sunlight made Anatole’s already bright and charming features even more enchanting. He practically glittered in the rays. Anatole was simply babbling about things that Dolokhov hardly understood. The French-speaking aristocrat had problems that Dolokhov could only wish he had, though listening to his trivial matters soothed him a bit. Anatole was safe. He wasn’t in trouble. Nothing was happening to him. The war couldn’t touch them there, and the burly man found himself forever gracious for that, especially in this moment. 

Dolokhov was picking at the grass on the side of the hill that they were sitting on. Anatole was pressed to his arm and holding his hand in his lap as they talked softly amongst themselves. The grass that was collected in his hands soon found its way into Anatole’s hair and the prince instantly but playfully rejected it and they started to throw grass amongst themselves, a fit of laughing ensuing. 

And their hands became caught around each others bodies and they rolled and tumbled down the hill of fragrant flowers, clothes jostled and hair ruffled. Dolokhov was atop of Anatole, who had rightfully become a giggling mess. Petals were woven through his silky, strawberry blonde hair and he had a soft scuff of a grass stain on his fair, blushing cheek that reminded him of a pink lady apple. 

By the gods how could anybody ever be as lovely as him? Who even had the right to be this remarkable? 

The scruffy man leaned down and kissed his lover in the most tender of ways, feeling their lips slide together slow as did sweet molasses when it dripped off of a spoon. When his tongue found a home with the other’s, Dolokhov had reached down in front of the other’s head and plucked a small flower from where it was growing and gently tucked it behind his darling’s ear, hearing the purr that came from his throat when he did so. 

He pulled his mouth off of the other’s and pressed his head into the crook of his heads, painting pretty pictures on his skin with his teeth in tongues, listening to his moans and giggles as the birds chirped around them. Anatole encouraged the indulgence, a hand lost in Dolokhov’s rougher hair, his tender fingers carving swirls into the back of his neck. 

“Have I ever told you how much I adore this?”

Dolokhov glanced up at him, surprised to hear him talking though catered to it nevertheless. He breathed softly against his ear and questioned, “Adore what, darling?” 

“You, of course, mon cher.” 

They both laughed. 

“But I enjoy the times when you forget the war…and remember me.” Anatole nearly purred, pulling Dolokhov’s lips back down against his neck, not wanting them to argue, just wanting his lover to listen to him, “I hate the way that the sadness is evident in your eyes, or when your eyes get lost in the corner of the room when we drink, or when you drink too much. Sometimes you sob in your sleep or into my hair and think I don’t notice, but I hear it. I just don’t know what to do besides my pour my love into you. And days like these remind me that things were not always hard, and that they will not be hard forever. You will be forever, not your trifles, my dear Fedya.”   
Dolokhov blinked softly against his neck but decided to continue to make more marks. He didn’t want to talk at this moment. He understood that Anatole cared very much about them… but they were both happy. They didn’t have to take the conversation further at the moment. He’d talk to him in bed about it later, when they were both calm and bathed, and when Anatole would be cutely tucked in his arms and pliant, willing to listen instead of jousted full of jaunty energy. 

“I love you so much.” He breathed softly on Anatole’s ear before he started to make his way back to his mouth, not letting the blonde respond any more. He just wanted to hear Anatole’s breathing, feel his heart, feel him. He wanted to give Anatole everything he felt, he just didn’t want to speak. Words could be heard and repeated, but actions spoke better, faster, and were far more meaningful. 

Dolokhov had spent minutes worshipping Anatole’s lips like a temple, entering them and praying silently and then exited feeling like a new man. His fingers fiddled with the already loose buttons of his collar and then with the rest that ran in a vertical line down his chest and parted the shirt like God did water so he could pass to a much holier place. And Anatole just moaned and begged for him and Dolokhov never felt more important to anyone else like he did to him in his life. By the time that he had gotten the fair prince down to his bare skin, the flesh had already been given a new layer of purple and pink paint patches all along his jaw, neck, and a long trail that led all the way down to the insides of his pried apart thighs, making way for Dolokhov. 

“Please?”

“Please what?” 

Anatole had bent up for him and looked over his face for a few moments before he started to undo Dolokhov’s clothes and his being. The way that his soft hands parted off his coat and his button down shirt showed his tenderness, caving way to his angelic demeanor. The tips of those digits trailed down his body and venerated his skin caused shudders to crawl up his back like ivy. Damn, were his touches addictive. His fingers dipped into the zipper of his pants and undid the latch on them, fluent in the motion as he was when he played the violin. His fingers were like, magic, he swore as he watched them slide the clothing off of him and thrown into somewhere that was forgotten to Dolokhov at the moment. Anatole didn’t wait any longer before Dolokhov felt a hot heat devour him, and he looked down at his lover, surprised by his willingness and his desire to get along with their endeavors. Anatole was usually a man that either enjoyed his love quick or drawn out, and this was the first time that he had made a line down the middle. He was being,…rational, which also wasn’t a very common thing for the blonde usual ditz. Dolokhov couldn’t help but groan as his lover latched onto him so fervently, making him hard and lubricated enough for them to enjoy their full experience. The boy gave one last lick before laying back down in the sea of grass and flowers, bare body nearly getting lost in it. 

“You are the most beautiful man that I had ever laid eyes on.” Dolokhov found himself whispering as he sunk himself into his cooing partner, who’s hands grappled at his shoulders and nails threatened to dig into his rough skin.   
“You are the most beautiful experience I have ever gotten to live through in all of my lives.” Anatole said this like a promise, though his voice sounded lost. Not lost in sadness or in booze, but in ecstasy and love  
.   
Dolokhov inhaled his happy words and buried his head back in the warmth of the other’s neck where it had began and drank in his expensive French cologne and the lingering smell of just Anatole right beneath it as his hips rolled into him and out from his form, his hands basking in the feeling of his lover squirming just the slightest in pleasure beneath him, ears tuned in to the soft, wonton noises that exited his breathy chest. 

When Dolokhov was buried inside of him he felt as if he was home. It was hard to remember the war when he remembered how warm and loved he was when Anatole was writhing beneath him. When he filled him up, Anatole had already been spent, breathing uncontrollable and tears streaming down his face. 

Dolokhov was confused. 

“My love, what is it?” He carefully put another flower in his hair and kissed his cheek. Anatole glanced up at him with teary, beautiful blue eyes that didn’t look sad in the slightest, so why did he cry? A smile crept up on his face and he pulled Dolokhov down for a quick, fierce kiss that left Dolokhov wanting another but settled for the way that Anatole dragged him down with him still inside of him and allowed him to lay there atop of him, nestled in his warmth and face buried in his hair. 

“I don’t think that I will ever be this happy again…”

**Author's Note:**

> I finally did it. I wrote a happy fic. I actually enjoyed it. I might write more like this?   
> <3


End file.
